


Shark In The Water

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silly John/reader stuff. SFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shark In The Water

“So who was that lad you were with?”

You are out to have a nice time with your friends; admittedly, your budget and variety for the night’s out have gone up a little since one of them has decided to date a Beatle, but the price you seem to be paying for it is exposure to the other three.

Paul is dating your friend Susan; he’s been nothing but charming to the rest of you, and you’re honestly happy for her – he seems delightfully pleasant and, well, he’s not uneasy on the eyes. Ringo is a sweetheart, possibly the most intrinsically _likeable_ of the group – he’s the one who makes you all feel included, and was the first apart from Paul to invite you all out. Even George, who is a little more quiet and taciturn, is a laugh when you get him going.

But John… he’s something else.

There’s something intense about him – oh, sure, when you’re together as a group he’s the joker, sometimes to the point of cruelty, but it’s mostly directed at others; that aquiline nose will wrinkle and his dark, shark-like eyes will crinkle, and he’ll spit something sharp out like it’s a bad tooth. But he can be… intense, when he thinks nobody is watching, staring, and you can see every strand of amber in those eyes…

Of course, _you’ve_ been watching, but you’re not about to admit that.

Still, despite your obviously noting how attractive he is, you two aren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination; something about him makes you feel nervous. Which makes his current line of questioning… somewhat curious.

“A friend,” you say, raising an eyebrow at John, and he leans in. The two of you have been abandoned at the bar. Susan and Paul are dancing together, lost in each other’s eyes and definitely arms as well, and over in the corner George appears to be fielding both Jen and Pauline with mild despair and confusion. You can’t blame him. Likely the troublesome twosome just want to tease him. You’re pretty sure you saw Ringo vanish outside for a smoke before as well – Gilly will be after him, asking for a light. Which leaves you… alone. Here.

“A friend, eh?” he asks, and you see something you don’t recognise in his eyes. A dark glimmer that swims away into those dark depths. “How long’ve you known this… friend, like?”

“None of your beeswax, John,” you say, promptly, and he laughs at the colloquialism – that glimmer is still there, though, and you are, once more, reminded of a shark, especially when he smiles with all those pearly teeth and then takes another sip of his drink.

“So, ‘e’s more than a friend,” he interprets, and you flush. He’s not, actually, but how dare this… this man come here and judge you? You fold your arms, and he grins. “Ey, (Y/N), you’ve gone all red.”

“What’s your interest anyway?” you ask sharply, and now it’s his turn to flush a little, and he adopts the same folded-arm stance.

“No interest. Just amazed yeh could flirt with anyone when yeh got the four of us… well, three, Paulie’s spoken for,” he says, and there’s a grin on his mouth – but now the eyes are all intense, all on you. “Spoiled for choice, aren’t yeh.”

This is why you’re not friends. That shark sense of humour has sensed blood, and it doesn’t discriminate. You take a sip of your own drink and turn away, wishing to god he didn’t make your legs feel so weak.

“Is he?” he presses, and you look at him sharply.

“No,” you say finally, and he raises an eyebrow. “He was a friend from university. He dropped out, he was trying it on and I’m not interested.” John’s brows furrow once more, and you feel a little satisfaction until you see the anger in his eyes.

“He was botherin’ yeh?” he asks, sharply, and you shake your head rapidly, hand flying to his arm without even thinking. He looks down at where you’re touching him, and you recoil slightly.

“It’s fine. He was a try-hard,” you mutter, and realise that, to have your hand on John’s arm, you must be much closer than you thought you were… You’re practically toe-to-toe at the bar, and you considering stepping back for a moment until his hand is suddenly on your arm. “John…”

“I’m not jokin’. Bird like you shouldn’t be puttin’ up with that from him.” He smirks. “Put up with it from me, instead, like.” You look into his eyes, and you really want to want to protest – but you don’t. There’s something about his… concentration? Passion? That look in his eyes – that makes you a tiny bit breathless. “Wait there…”

“John, where are y-?” you begin, and he marches off; you turn, and see him marching over to your friend, who had just introduced himself as ‘Stephen’ despite the fact you were almost concretely sure his name was Tim up until he had. Your heart speeds up in your chest as you see John tap him on the shoulder.

“ _Ey, lad,_ ” you hear, and cringe inwardly – Stephen turns around. “ _I ‘eard you were tryin’ it on with my bird._ ” The poor man’s eyes are like saucers – a Beatle appears and not only does he address you but he does it in a tone of voice that suggests fisticuffs at dawn, or more accurately rolled-up sleeves in the street outside – and you feel a little sorry, for a second. And then you catch up to the last few words. _Whose bird?!_ Your heart pounds. You… you slightly like that…

“ _I-I’m sorry-_ ”

“ _I forgive yeh. But keep yer distance._ ” John saunters back over, and you raise your eyebrow as he slots back in, toe to toe, faces inches from each other.

“Your ‘bird’?” you ask, and he puts his hand to his mouth.

“Ah, missed that bit out.” And then he leans forward, and kisses you, hand on your arm, and you feel your heart speed up. You realise that by all rights you should clock him with your purse, but his kiss makes you feel warm from your head to your toes, and as you pull back for a moment, you realise Stephen is staring. “What can I say, love. Yeh caught my eye.” He winks, and you flush again. “So, how about it? Bit late, like, but… yeh wanna be me bird?”

“…you win a date. For that,” you say quietly, and he folds his arms. “Two.” He grins, and slides his arm around your waist, and you find yourself looking up into those piercing, dark eyes once more. You have the feeling it’ll be more than that. Many more.


End file.
